


Atlas, Revisited

by sephyelysian



Category: Kamen Rider, Kamen Rider Decade, Kamen Rider Kiva, Kamen Rider Zi-O, Tokusatsu
Genre: Gen, Possible Decade spoilers, Post-Decade Kurenai Wataru, Slight spoilers for Zio, Spoilers for Kiva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 00:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20480144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sephyelysian/pseuds/sephyelysian
Summary: “I wanted to meet you,” Tokiwa-kun says, nodding his head and considering that.  “It was disappointing not to meet Fourze or Wizard.  Oh yeah and Kuuga and W but I hope to change that soon!  It’s just — no one even talked about you.“





	Atlas, Revisited

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after episode 36 of Kamen Rider Zi-O. I was massively disappointed in the Kiva arc for the show because I had wanted to see Sougo meet Wataru (especially post-Decade Wataru). I guess you could say this is the result of that.
> 
> Also, a million thanks to Amet for her support and for proofreading for me!

_“People are guests in our story, the same way we are guests in theirs.”_  
\- Lauren Klarfield

“This is _highly_ irregular.”

King is slow to turn around, intent upon finishing his task before he diverts his attention elsewhere. There are cracks still underneath the lush veneer of this world, little voids filled with festering, dark energy. Shadowy patches where this universe has been pierced, the wound scabbing over without being healed. An infection from the AR worlds having found its way here, starting to fill in all those hollow cavities. Starting to _become_, a mindless hunger that desires nothing more than to glut itself on the rich otherness of this plane of existence. If left unattended, those voids will enlarge, the reality of this universe snapping off, consumed by the seeds of another. Leaving nothing in its wake but an empty shell, fattening itself before it moves on to somewhere else. Some when else. 

_When._ That feels as if he’s telling himself something again. _Time._ Ah. Of course. It answers the question of why there are tears in this world, as there are in the fabric of the universe, as if something is causing it to contract and grind against itself, creating openings for creatures from elsewhere to slip through. 

King tilts his head back, drawing a slow breath that allows him to taste the air, that sour, rotting smell starting to dissipate following the repair of those holes, sewing back the skein of the universe in silvers and purples of the stars before filling it with the dirt of reality. The sun is warmer on his face now, not the pale imitation filtering through the atmosphere, the tendrils of this creature having sunk far and deep. 

The only signal he gives when he’s done is pushing himself upward, brushing his white pants clean as he hovers above an inch or two above the ground. Still not entirely comfortable in sitting in the dirt. Inspecting his handiwork with fingers that pluck and saw through the air, feeling it grow cooler as blue skies and tangling trees melt away into shadowed recesses, his feet loud when they step out onto the stone floors.

Ramon skips past, grinning and throwing himself on the lowest step of the raised dais, Riki bleeding out to stand to the left of the ornate throne room, stone-faced and imposing in his immaculate suit. Only Jirou is absent. The room trembles as the Doran adjusts, the reverberations of its sudden indigestion felt even here, in the dark halls of the Fangire kings.

“How did you know where to find me?” King does turn around then, voice soft and unconcerned. 

Outwardly, Tokiwa Sougo looks no different, no more special than any other high school (_post high school, he graduated recently_) student. He’s small and lanky, nearly dwarfed by his fashionable clothing, smiling brightly with hands clasped in front of him. Young, impossibly young like this and King’s heart aches a little for him, aware of the trials he’s been through, the ones he has still yet to face. 

But like that planet, outwardly is only the facade of the thing and when King really looks at Tokiwa Sougo —

Tokiwa-kun rocks back on his heels, gray cardigan flapping around him with a grin, leaning forward unmindful of the fact that it is his very existence, the raw power of Time itself that causes Castle Doran to quiver in distress, “Kadoya Tsukasa sends his regards.”

His fingers waggle in eager emphasis, face creasing with the force of his grin, peering over his head at the person coming up behind him, Woz’s lean features more sedate in the face of his master’s giddiness.

“I bet he does,” King says dryly before tipping his head at the taller shadow at the boy’s side. “Hello, Woz.”

Woz’s smile is smug, preening as he half-bows with obvious flourish. “Greetings and salutations, your Majesty.”

“You two know each other?” Tokiwa-kun blinks, face falling before his smile returns, wheeling towards his attendant. 

“We’ve met,” King says.

“Indeed but forgive me, sires for I have been remiss,” Woz coughs into his hand and then waves an arm outward, voice booming as it rolls across the hall in proclamation, “Rejoice! For this is the fated meeting of Kings. The Ruler of Time, the one who will rule over past and present, heir to the power of all Kamen Riders, Kamen Rider Zi-O, Tokiwa Sougo —“

Tokiwa-kun bounces on his heels again, eyes lifting upward in exasperation as he shrugs, waiting.

“And the King of Fangire, the Dark Emperor of Hell, King of Creation, Opposite to the Destroyer of Worlds, the Masterful Violinist —“

“Reel it in, Book Boy,” Kivat grouses, flapping over to circle Woz’s head, Tokiwa-kun’s attention immediately diverting much to his underling’s increasing chagrin. 

King gives Woz credit though; the distraction and interruption only makes him forge onward. Grimacing for a few seconds, his eyes close, face clearing beautifically, “And Kamen Rider Kiva, Kurenai Wataru-sama.”

Woz pauses, as if he expects applause, Tokiwa-kun reaching out to clap his shoulder. “Very well done, thank you, Woz.”

The taller man bows, gray-green robs swirling around him as he straightens, all that fanatical attention fixed for a few seconds, basking in the reward of being noticed by the object of his obsession. For his part, Tokiwa-kun seems untroubled by that. If anything, he seems amused, as if Woz is merely being entertaining rather instead of sensing the serious undercurrent beneath the prophet’s words and actions.

Tokiwa-kun turns, overlong sleeves falling over his hands, all his youth on display. At least, Wataru thinks, until you reach his eyes, all that beaming, harsh light only making the scars within stand out. 

“I wanted to meet you,” Tokiwa-kun says, nodding his head and considering that. “It was disappointing not to meet Fourze or Wizard. Oh yeah and Kuuga and W but I hope to change that soon! It’s just — no one even talked about you. No one said your name or talked about the history of Kiva. I didn’t question that at first. I was — wasn’t doing my best thinking then.”

Tokiwa-kun’s words stumble then, the boy blushing and dropping his eyes, smile downturning. Thinking of Kitajima Yuko no doubt. There’s a sting of sympathy in that. Wataru knows all too well what losing a first love is like. 

“But then Kadoya asked if I’d found you as irritating as he did and seemed surprised when you weren’t there. So I asked Woz about you and,...” t

There’s another pause, Tokiwa-kun shifting again, jamming his hands in his cardigan pockets. Studying him really and King wonders what Tokiwa-kun makes of him, a spectral figure now dressed in immaculate whites. Outwardly near Woz’s age, the roundness that once defined his own features whittled down. He’s been given to understand from ‘Niisan, from Megumi-san, from even Kivat that his face is disarming, with lips that are too big for his features, that tend to pout when he’s not careful. Not outwardly intimidating, not the way the King of Hell is supposed to be.

It’s a misperception too many people tend to fall into and it might be too much to hope Tokiwa-kun will prove the exception. 

Wataru considers him in turn, gaze shifting towards the stain glass windows, wan light filtering in. It’s artificial, a mere fraction of his power used to remind him of the world beyond on those days when this hall fills with endless courtiers, with Fangire who fear him as much as they love him. Enemies and followers milling about where he can properly see them, keeping an eye on each other and always jockeying for a more favorable position in the system Taiga’s set up. Wataru himself despairs of it some days, longing for the peace of Bloody Rose and father’s house on others. The days when he’s actually free to indulge himself more infrequent of late. Because of this boy and the way Time quivers and lists in his wake, tearing at the tapestry of the universe. Some days reordering it and other days creating holes that Wataru scrambles to keep contained.

This is his trial, his accession to power, just as Wataru had his so many years ago now and there’s no preventing it the way the Time Jackers or his friends Geiz and Tsukiyomi wish to. Nor is there any point in trying to redirect him, to herd this boy along a different path the way Schwartz wishes (_and that will happen very soon, Wataru recalls_). All he can do is wait it out, listen to the swelling strains of music as this crisis reaches its crescendo and try to be in those places where the foundations of creation are crumbling, shoring them up as reality tries to ride this out. 

King could give some flippant excuse about not being able to be everywhere at once but it wouldn’t be the truth and if this is a first meeting, he has no desire to taint it with outright lies.

“You have what you need,” King says gently, “I sent Jirou to deliver it you himself.”

Sougo scratches the back of his neck, looking puzzled before slapping his hands together. “Oh! That guy! I did think it was a little weird he just shoved the Ride Watch at me after trying to kill me.”

Wataru’s lips purse, glancing over at Ramon who giggles and Riki who — looks pained before staring at the blank space on the other side of the throne. “I suppose that answers _that_ question, doesn’t it?”

“I _told_ you sending that dog without a leash was asking for trouble,” Kivat says, flitting down to land on Wataru’s shoulder.

“Indeed, my overlord found him most troublesome,” Woz tips his head. 

“I wouldn’t say troublesome. Maybe just a little weird,” Tokiwa-kun holds his hands up as if he’s afraid of causing offense. “But I’m also really used to that by now! It’s become the new normal since I met Woz.”

That sets Woz to preening again before his mouth tightens, eyes moving like they’re going over the words, Tokiwa-kun giving him a tentative thumbs up when he looks over. There’s another roil of dark power, kept in check only by this boy’s good intentions, an aura that spills outwards and stains creation.

Just as Tsukasa’s does. Just as his own does. The three of them are their own special club. Wataru wonders if Tsukasa looks at this boy and sees all of his past mistakes, all the potential for everything to go right or wrong drawing him in. Just as Wataru had once been drawn to Tsukasa, even aware of his role as the Destroyer prophesied in the oldest tomes of Fangire lore, the man whose name made creation tremble. 

“I suppose,” Wataru says, tilting his head and smiling a little himself, “I can understand that.” 

Tokiwa-kun peers at him as if he’s waiting for him to say more. Instead, Wataru turns around, away from the throne and towards the outer doors where someone will no doubt be waiting on him. Probably with a petition or something to sign. Or perhaps not. Of late he’s found that his own timeline is trying to curl in on itself, carried around him like a bubble instead of being fixed. Sometimes he’s met with the empty halls of Castle Doran or with Fangire who are confused by his presence. Some are old enemies that dissolve away as soon as his aura hits, his presence reordering his immediate surroundings. 

“Wait,” Tokiwa-kun calls out, stumbling after him and sounding confused, “I just — I would like to talk with you.”

King pauses, feeling that knot settle between his shoulders, the bewilderment in Tokiwa-kun’s voice one more stone to bear. 

“You’re a King and Woz said, Woz said you started out like me. Just somebody no one really noticed, someone that everyone thought would never —“

“Stop,” King says a note of weariness creeping in. “There will be a time for us. A time we will speak and find understanding with each other but not now. Not today.”

It’s almost saying too much but Wataru has never been very good at completely towing that line, not in the face of someone else’s distress. He half-turns, fingers steepled in front of him, Tokiwa-kun’s round face bewildered, all that power reaching out towards him, without thought or intent. Seeking to stay him and King shrugs in the face of it, feels it break and crest around him, slapping some of his own power over the holes in reality he can feel starting to form here in response. 

This is the power that had reset so many timelines. That had caused the dead to rise and unmade the lives of Riders like Hino Eiji and Kiryuu Sento. It displaces people from their timelines, changing their fates, unravelling the threads of the natural order. Unchecked and undisciplined, it surges outward, the air vibrating like a plucked string around it, the notes silenced as realities collide. It rends and creates mindlessly, doing violence without ever raising a hand. 

He’s not Tendou Souji but King can move quickly when it is required, suddenly putting himself face to face with Tokiwa-kun. Woz yelps in response, starting to move when King turns to glare at him, power reaching out to push him through the walls of the Castle and back to the 9 5 DO, leaving only Tokiwa-kun behind. Wide, dark eyes meet his, the boy falling into a defensive posture, filled with confusion and — disappointment.

Wataru remembers that sort of disappointment. Remembers looking at Nago-san and Taiga, remembers Kengo rejecting him, and feeling as if there was no place for him at all. Not when every hand he reached for slapped him away. 

But how can he put this into words that Tokiwa-kun will understand? How can he make him see that somewhere out there is a genius violinist who never met a lonely vampire Queen because of this power Tokiwa-kun carelessly wields? That the deposed Fangire King still roams in that bubble world, murdering everyone and everything that crosses his path, including the young son who might be destined to take his place. That there are people living and dying in multiple fashions every day, creating a backwash of realities that are building and building, adding pressure to the frame of the universe and if the pressure isn’t relieved soon, it will crack and splinter entirely. 

It’s not something he can tell. It’s something that must be lived, something Tokiwa-kun must go through, the realization of all that he is and what that means. The choices to come are his and his alone. 

The problem with being able to see every possible outcome of every possible second in the multiverse when he chooses is that King can’t always act on them as he would see fit. Sometimes he just has to let things happen and then come up behind on clean up duty after the fact. There are rules, lines that shouldn’t be crossed, not if he’s to remain stable. 

The last Fangire King had driven himself mad with the wild exercising of the power at his disposal. Wataru strives to do better than that. 

“I understand what you want but that time is not today no matter how much you will it to be, Tokiwa-kun. Our paths will cross again and when that happens...”

Wataru smiles, truly smiles, the expression catching the boy off-guard, enough for King to wrap his own power around him, to thrust him away as he had done with Woz, back to his place, back into fire and battle.

“When that happens,” King says to the now empty hallway, “I look forward to our conversation.”

It would be a long one. It might even go on until Time ran out. 

—-

“You were unduly harsh back there, don’t you think? I mean, even for you.”

Tsukasa shifts out of his slouch against the wall, sauntering towards King with a bemused expression. He pulls out a creaky iron chair as King pauses over his tea cup, blinking at him with a shrug. It earns him a look of pure exasperation, the Destroyer of Worlds reaching for one of the tea biscuits and waggling it at him.

“You might be good at that expression but I know better than to fall for it. _Zi-o,_” Tsukasa says, emphasizing the syllables of the Rider’s name. “Don’t you think that was a bit much? Kid just wanted to talk.”

King tips his head in acknowledgment, watching the steam rise off the thin gold rim of his cup. There’s a ripple of displaced air on either side of his head, Kivat and Tatsulot wavering into existence. The tiny bat gives Tsukasa a flat look of disapproval but Tatsulot whistles, diving in small circles around him, disappointed when he can’t snatch the cookie Decade is holding onto, Tsukasa playing keep away until he pointedly sticks it in his mouth and bites down. The wyvern deflates before turning hopeful golden eyes towards King, snatching at the biscuit pushed towards him.

“I’m sorry. What was that you were saying about being harsh?” King asks.

Tsukasa leans back, his chair rocking on two legs, mouth pursing as he stares down his nose. Wataru can see him taking in the small round table, white table cloth adorned with one of Master’s best tea services and a small open box of cookies with the name _Mald ‘Amour_ written in flourishing gold ink across the side of the box. Jirou had absconded with the coffee as soon as it had appeared, Master’s house blend now a valuable commodity, 

_Mald ‘Amour_ had collapsed in the first wave of Zi-o’s rising power, Master’s history rewritten and replaced. What took its place was no longer a safe haven for spies and wayward musician shut-ins and the coffee wasn’t worth stopping in though he knew Jirou tried, drawn again and again, seeking some semblance of familiarity in the turbulent times.

“You made a special trip for these what with the timelines collapsing around us. Feeling sentimental today, Wataru?” Tsukasa purses his lips, searching his face. 

King’s smile is faint, gesturing. “Even I am not immune to that. I think you’ll recall that it’s always been my custom to have one of Master’s pastries and tea after being off-world for some time.”

“Bending the laws of the universe for a box of biscotti?”

“They are _very_ good biscotti.”

Tsukasa makes a face, grabbing another and taking a pointed bite, King pouring him his own cup of tea and pushing the sugar bowl at him. He knows better than to try and sweeten anything to Tsukasa’s liking. The man is notoriously picky.

It earns him a pinched, knowing smile from across the table, Tsukasa’s playing with his spoon before he starts shoveling sugar in. Sometimes it hits King that this might be it one day. Everything might well collapse around them and there might not be a way to restore things. All their efforts might come to naught. And at the end of that universe, when everything else went away, they would still be here, Tsukasa and he. Creation and Destruction, possibly having tea and wondering when it would all start again.

And now they had a third. Now they were simply waiting on Time.

“What could I say to him?” King asks abruptly, his hand gesturing outward towards the lush overgrown garden, once his father’s and now his own, willow trees angling towards them, spindly leaves picking up with a breeze. “What could I say to him that would not be a spoiler for things to come? I think there are enough influences on Zi-o’s timeline right now without my stepping in.”

“But you will step in,” Tsukasa insists, leaning forward, “if things get bad enough.”

King blinks at him again and takes another sip of his tea, grimacing because he’s added too much milk and it’s made the brew chalky. “_You_ have stepped in, Tsukasa. Unless you are planning on stepping out, I think it is on you to see it through until the end.

“I’ll do my best to hold things together for as long as possible,” King continues, smiling at Tatsulot who settles on his shoulder and petting across the metal ridge of his snout. “But I think we both know that it would be better if I don’t make an appearance. Both of us in that place, at the same time ... Things are too unstable just now. Perhaps later we can find a world, another time to try and save together if you’ve decided you like being responsible. I am impressed by the way. How many times have you come back to Zi-o’s world to help now?”

“Shut up,” Tsukasa says without any malice, almost automatically, the spoon clacking against the tea cup, banging like a miniature drum. 

He’s staring at the table though, saturnine features drawn, full lips whiting out before he throws his head up to pin King with a challenging stare. “It should have been you. This kid, he’s like you. Maybe smiles a lot more because he isn’t a neurotic former shut in but he’s needy and he’s got too much power at his disposal and he’s too damn sanctimonious for his own good. It’s annoying.”

Kivat snorts, “There’s possibly a compliment in there. I think.”

His tiny wings are flapping in rising agitation, the way they always do around Tsukasa. Worrying because Kivat has always worried and because sometimes he finds it difficult to see around their respective roles. Wataru had been that way once, too young and untried as King to allow himself to understand that they were the same. 

He had thrown himself head first at Tsukasa then, with fire and puffed up self-righteousness, setting Decade off on a journey by putting fear into him. Convinced it was the only way to get through to someone like him and if he’s not sure it was the incorrect choice, King has often wished things had gone differently. 

“I just think he’d listen to you more readily.”

“I think,” King says, thinking of the throne room and how Tokiwa-kun had so easily invoked Tsukasa’s name, grinning in obvious pleasure, “that he listens to you just fine. He’s not there yet is all. One day he will be. _One day he’ll be just like us._”

Overburdened with the knowledge that the universe isn’t fair and that if things can be righted, sometimes that only goes so far. That miracles come with a price and in the end, it is all those seemingly powerless people they spend every day protecting who have to help save themselves in the end. King could reorder this world with a thought, could take it apart and remake it, impose his will on Creation but — it’s not his place. People create their own worlds. Each person, every day, with every choice. All he can do is help give them ground to stand on. 

One day Tokiwa Sougo will understand that and some of that youthful light will wither and fade from his eyes. One day he’ll feel that same implacable weight settle, learning there are not truly right choices. It’s just choices that he will have to make. Ones he will have to learn to live with. It’s a lesson that Wataru has had to learn and relearn and now Tsukasa, too, for all that he bucks and fights back.

“This is where your journey is taken you in this time, Tsukasa. Perhaps it’s not about forcing Zi-o to make the right choices. Maybe it’s helping him grow to make his own instead.”

“Sermonizing again” Tsukasa grumbles but the banging with the spoon stops, twirled instead between his fingers as he leans back, features softening and there’s genuine affection in his voice. “You are _such_ a pain in the ass, Wataru.”

—

_Coda_

“See,” Tsukasa wags a finger at the schoolyard, “I _told_ you that you should have had that conversation with him.”

Beside him, Woz nods, frowning and flicking hair out of his eyes. Totally out of place in his khaki, buckled robes but somehow he blends, school children wandering past to dart looks at Tsukasa or King but not Woz. Never at Woz. It’s always been the man’s gift to disappear, to move unnoticed through whatever time and place he’s in.

Judging from the downcast glint in his eyes, King thinks it must feel like a curse now.

“Try not to sound so gleeful about that,” Kivat growls, flapping hard in Tsukasa’s face before he wheels around, coughing importantly, “That being said, he is absolutely right.”

King raises an eyebrow, “How is this in anyway helpful?’

He turns to watch the children spill across the schoolyard, Myoukin Geiz turning around to holler at Tokiwa-kun and the girl at his side. Stomping his foot when they don’t come fast enough, clearly itching to get to some practice. Tokiwa-kun is laughing, pushing his bike along and chatting with a skinny dark haired boy. Ah, yes. One of the Time Jackers. So Tokiwa-kun had written this story to include him as well.

“It would appear, your Majesty,” Woz says, “that my overlord has decided his destiny is best sacrificed for the lives of others.”

Woz sounds mournful about that, haunting the perimeter of the school when they appeared, Tsukasa insistent that King come see what Zi-o had done. A ghost now in this new world but still his master’s shadow, loitering around — in hope? Perhaps.

There’s no point in saying this was unforeseen. Tsukasa would already know that. King’s brow furrows, stretching his senses outward. He can still sense a vague pulse of power from Tokiwa-kun, the promise of something more potent but it’s sealed, tamped down whether unwittingly or not. It would have to be to continue to support this new reality, one that all of King’s far-seeing hadn’t accounted on.

It’s a blind spot that bothers him. Even when he tries very hard not to look all the certainties in the face (because what is if life is everything is known), King counts on them to be there, to be accurate when he does take a peek. Nowhere in any of his seeing had a choice like this come to pass. King concentrates, starting at this time and then attempting to see in reverse, following up the branching pathways of possibility and —

Of course. _Of course._ It was _his_ choice not to interfere had sparked a cascade of new possible choices for Tokiwa-kun. In trying not to, he had inadvertently created another causal set of realities to be explored. Zi-o had simply chosen one. 

It’s a reminder, perhaps for himself, from Zi-o, from the universe that nothing is entirely set in stone and sometimes, even with all his power and omniscience at his disposal when he chooses to use it, there can still be surprise. That there are, indeed, choices with consequences.

King laughs, the sound sudden and deep and apparently surprising to everyone. Tsukasa and Kivat stop their posturing, Woz straightening out of his slump and clutching his precious book to his chest. 

“This is better than my own early attempts at fixing my timeline,” King says with a shake of his head, smiling at Woz and Tsukasa. “But this blissful innocence won’t last. That kind of power finds its own way out. He’ll need new friends as well as old to be waiting for him when the time comes.

“In the meantime, you and I,” King crosses his arms at Tsukasa, watching him twitch and glower, “are going to be working together to shore up some of this timeline. He can fix the rest when he comes back to himself. Woz?”

“Your Majesty?” And the flourish is back, a deep bow and eyes that are definitely alight with hope again. 

“We’re going to be busy for the next little while. We’ll need someone to keep an eye on all of them.”

“Of course. It has always been my greatest pleasure to follow my overlord wherever he chooses.”

King nods and then catches sight of Tsukasa, Decade giving him an unreadable look. “Yes?”

“You should be having the biggest tantrum right now. Why aren’t you having the biggest tantrum? Why does it feel like I’m about to have that tantrum?” Tsukasa complains, then looks horrified. “Have we switched places? Am I the responsible one now and you’re the one that swans in when they feel like it? _I don’t like that._”

Rolling his eyes, King cranes his head to stare at Tokiwa-kun’s back. The boy freezes up, half-turning before he’s distracted again, jogging after his friends. “This is a respite, Tsukasa. A summer vacation, if you will. It will end and we need to be sure that reality will be strong enough for Tokiwa-kun when he truly graduates.”

They could fix things, he and Tsukasa. Make a concerted effort to turn everything over but this world, this precious moment of time with the school bell ringing and five children running freely together, this matters, too. It’s a gift, a clumsy one that won’t last but the feelings, the lingering comfort will remain long after the moment passes. 

\- End


End file.
